


Stone Cold Iron

by evisionarts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 01:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12048051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evisionarts/pseuds/evisionarts
Summary: Stiles’ sacred body was laid out and bound to a cross made of rusted pipe haphazardly welded together and sunk into a lake of sewage at the bottom of a vast cavern. It was a particularly humiliating way for a god’s life to end but he supposed that was the point.





	Stone Cold Iron

The fetid water lapped at his toes.

The lantern light flickered and died.

He was naked save for the crown of bent nails, thumb tacks and razor blades shoved onto the crown of his head. Thick cording wound around him in tight coils.

The rope chafed at his skin but he dared not move. The hemp was interwoven with strands of cold iron and already he was blistered and weeping ichor mixed with blood. His magic was leaving him one drop at a time.

Stiles’ sacred body was laid out and bound to a cross made of rusted pipe haphazardly welded together and sunk into a lake of sewage at the bottom of a vast cavern. It was a particularly humiliating way for a god’s life to end but he supposed that was the point. 

He found this death peculiarly personal. Or maybe it was his own desire to rise above the status of random victim clouding his judgment. Maybe this was the standard way an old spirit showed an upstart godling who’s boss. 

Stiles was grateful he had no prior experience with this kind of behavior though recent events made it easier for him to make an educated guess concerning the motivations of his executioner and who they may be. 

The stinking water climbed to his knees.

Ichor flowed in a steady stream from a thousand tiny cuts, sizzling and burning where it landed in the filth that surrounded him.

He was not alone. Red eyes flashed in time to the sounds of his suffering. Blue ones gazed once and turned away.

“Piotr,” Stiles sighed, and it sounded like the jarring downbeat of tuneless chimes tangled together in a harsh wind.

“My name has no place in your rank mouth,” Piotr hissed, “You shall not speak it.”

“What will you do?” Stiles giggled through his tears, “Murder me?”

“I can draw this out little godling,” Piotr panted excited little breaths from his place at the edge of the rotting pool, “I can keep you on the edge for eternity.”

Blue eyes flashed and a low rumbling growl echoed against the walls of the cave. 

“As befits my station as caretaker of the wild grove I invoke my right to the courtesy of death,” Stiles retorted, his voice rising above the snarls ringing through the putrid air until they were overwhelmed and faded away.

Stiles spit out a wet cough. “Give me my due Lost Son of Mother Moon-Hider in the Flames-King of Shadows or know that the consequences are beyond your imagining.” 

“You are not in a position to make demands,” Piotr pointed out, “I find myself unmoved by threats from a bleeding boy covered in shit. You are, however, upsetting my nephew and I don’t care enough about you to torture him at the moment.”

Piotr entwined his fingers in the fur at the nape of the pitch black wolf that stood by his side. “You may have your wish filthy godling, but for Derek’s sake alone.”

Raw sewage coated Stiles’ chest and licked at his throat.

Ichor seeped from his eyes, his ears, his nose. His lips cracked and bled. His tongue swelled and grew heavy in his mouth.

“I find this whole thing distinctly anticlimactic,” Piotr commented, “Who knew killing you would be so boring?”

He stood in the glow of slitted blue eyes but ignored their unblinking gaze. “What’s wrong little god? No words to cut me down? To refuse my gifts? To beg my forgiveness?”

Piotr’s smile was clear and unkind. “No one would bite you now.”

“Dad?” Stiles mumbled.

The wolf screamed.

Stiles final breath was coated in the bitter stench of rotting waste. He closed his eyes but the oily corruption crept its way beneath his lids. The creatures that lived in the pool feasted on the last of the ichor that slipped from his veins. He gave his body over to their care. 

Piotr felt strangely empty though perfectly justified. It was the Tender of the Grove’s own foolish choices that brought them to this place. All the boy had to do was say yes. 

He was surprised to feel exhaustion pulling at his limbs and he stumbled and fell down heavily, his ass landing with a jarring thud in the gravel that littered the cavern floor. He blinked up into the bright blue eyes of the wolf standing over him.

“Derek, my good boy, but no need to be concerned. This is probably just a consequence of the spell I used to compel the godling. It took a considerable bit of deft magic if I do say so myself.”

“Yes,” replied the man who now crouched beside him and tapped clawed fingers against the artery that pulsed beneath the skin of Piotr’s throat, “Stiles told me the moments after his death would be your weakest point.”

“What do you –“ the sentence lay forever unfinished as Piotr’s head was ripped from his body in a single concentrated motion. It landed in the pool of bubbling sewage and sank below the surface with a distinct look of wide-eyed surprise on its slack face.

Derek threw the body after it and retreated to the corner of the cave farthest away from the center of death and destruction. He buried his head in his knees and gave in to the tears trapped behind his eyes.

He flinched when a gentle hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed. 

“Are those for me Sourwolf? Such a waste of bodily fluids.”

Derek’s head shot up and he glared at Stile’s grinning face. “You died!”

“Well yes,” Stiles agreed kneeling in front of Derek and cupping the back of his neck in a large hand, “It wasn’t one of my more glorious moments. Still it served its purpose. I don’t think Piotr will be coming back from that.”

Derek scowled. “You did.”

Stiles’ booped his nose with a cheeky grin as Derek growled. “Nemeton’s don’t die Der-Bear. I told you that. Well we do – but not for very long.”

“We always come back unless we choose not to.” Stiles leaned his forehead against the other man’s and inhaled deeply, smiling as Derek moved to bury his head into the curve of Stile’s neck. “I’ll always choose you.”

They sat there for a while, breathing each other in. Derek raised his head and trailed a claw along the line of Stiles’ cheek. He flashed his eyes and their corner was bathed in blood red light.

“I never wanted to be Alpha,” he rasped, his throat thick with tears. “He gave me so much and took so much more.”

“I know.” Stiles sat against the cavern wall and encouraged Derek down beside him. “Did I ever tell you I ran away after my mom died?”

Derek looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Yep. I didn’t want to be the Nemeton. Who the hell wants to spend their life kissing up to a cranky ass tree?” Stiles maneuvered Derek’s head onto his shoulder and brushed a kiss to the top of his hair. “I felt the power surging into me the second my mom closed her eyes for the last time and I just said nope and high-tailed it out of there.”

“Where did you go?” Derek spoke into the hollow of Stile’s collar bone.

Stiles laughed. “My Dad had to send the deputies out! I was gone for hours. But he was the one who found me. I think he knew where I was the whole time – just wanted to give me a little bit of space before he came by.”

He favored Derek with a sideways glance. “Do you know how easy it is for a newly born Nemeton to break into a mausoleum?”

Derek gasped. “Oh my god – that was the first time you spoke to her?”

Stiles nodded. “Yep. My Babcia was waiting for me. We had a nice long talk and she promised she’d hang around as long as I needed her.”

Derek contemplated this. “She doesn’t seem like she’s leaving any time soon.”

Stiles hit him on the shoulder. “Are you kidding? She adores you! There’s no way she’s leaving when you go visit her every other day.”

Derek shrugged. “She keeps promising to give me her szarlotka recipe and then conveniently forgetting about it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh please, all you’d have to do is refuse to tell her what happened on Game of Thrones.”

“I can’t do that!” Derek replied scandalized.

“Yeah, we know big guy,” Stiles grinned and leaned in for a kiss. Several minutes later they came up for air. Stiles’ gazed fondly into Derek’s half-lidded eyes. “That’s why we love you.”

He bounced up and offered Derek his hand pulling him to his feet. “Time to go greet your pack Alpha Sourwolf.”

“Zombie,” Derek grumbled under his breath, reaching out to catch Stiles’ elbow as he stumbled over a rock.

Stiles gasped and clutched at his heart dramatically. “You wound me!”

“Well it’s not like it’s going to kill you.” Derek replied dryly, tearing away the heavy vines that disguised the entrance to Piotr’s lair.

Stiles snickered and bumped their shoulders together as they clawed their way back into the light.

 


End file.
